The Marriage Spell (20 page)

Abby shook her head. “I thank God that I was born into the gentry class and was not subject to such wicked restrictions. Since I come from a family of wizards, I had all the support and training anyone could wish.” Three tarts swooped into the air and hovered before each of them.

“You're showing off,” Jack said with a grin.

She laughed. “A little. But they're lovely tarts.” She pulled hers from the air and ate it. Jack and Celeste followed suit.

Abby finished her tea. “It's well known that magical gifts run in families. Both of you have significant gifts. It takes real power to lift objects without touching them. Though not impossible, it would be unusual for both of you to possess substantial abilities without having other magic in your family. So where did your power come from? Your mother or your father? A grandparent?”

Jack's gaze caught his sister's, and he saw a shock that matched his own. In all these years, he had never once asked himself where his accursed magic came from. Had that lack of curiosity also been the result of a spell?

There had been a wizard in his family home, and it had subtly shaped both of their childhoods. “Father.” He licked dry lips. “It had to be him.”

“That's impossible,” Celeste whispered, her eyes huge. “Papa hated magic.”

“Even more impossible that it was Mama.” Transparent, sociable, and uncomplicated, their mother had carried no hidden shadows.

Feeling suffocated, he shoved himself from his chair and stalked across the room, stopping at the window overlooking Grosvenor Square. His mind was suddenly full of memories that were the same, yet entirely different.

You must not use magic. It is wicked. Disgusting.
The beatings, his father's grim, implacable face. Though Jack had been whipped harder at Stonebridge, those beatings had never hurt as much as the ones from his father.

An arm slipped around his waist, and he realized that Abby had joined him. Wisely she said nothing. Did she use healing magic to dissolve his angry pain, or was she offering only the purely human magic of caring? He put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to his side.

“My father was the one who ordered the Stonebridge spell,” he said harshly. “He might have been the one to cast the milder spells on Celeste and me. I can…almost see him bespelling me. It's like a memory that is just out of reach.”

“He was shamed by the magical part of himself,” Abby said softly. “He didn't want you to suffer as he had, so he tried to remove even your knowledge of your own power. I think what he did was wrong, but it was done because he loved you.”

She was right, he realized. His father had been a tormented man, particularly when the subject was magic. “I'm glad he wasn't so hard on Celeste. I don't think he could bear to hurt his angel child.”

A brittle laugh sounded behind them. “I'd forgotten that he called me his angel child,” Celeste said. “I've forgotten so much.”

Abby handed him his cane. “And you forgot this when you stood up.”

So he had, and his leg ached from the extra strain. Guessing that Abby was suggesting he go to his sister, he crossed the room. Celeste sat in her chair with her usual grace, hands folded and back straight. Only the tear tracks on her face revealed her inner turmoil. “The world just changed, Celeste,” he said quietly. “Yet it's no different than it was, except in our minds.”

“That's a very large
except.
” She stood and wrapped her arms around him in an unhappy hug. “To think that Papa was a wizard! I never knew him at all.”

“Neither did I.” He felt closer to his sister than he had since they were children in the nursery. He glanced up and saw Abby standing quietly at the window, allowing him the time with his sister.

He put out one arm and beckoned her to join them in their hug. Without her, there would be no new understanding. And painful though the experience of finding out was, he was glad to find that his past finally made sense.

Chapter
XIX

A
fter Jack left, well stuffed with pastries, Abby asked the duchess, “When would you like me to examine you? Tomorrow morning, perhaps?”

“Now?” Celeste laughed ruefully. “After ten years, I know that a day more or less won't really matter, but I'd like to know what you think.”

Abby recognized the yearning for a miracle. Luckily, though her healing power was still below normal because of the energy she was lending Jack, that shouldn't affect her ability to scan. “I'll do a preliminary examination. That will give me the information to write my friend, Mrs. Wayne, who has great expertise in female health problems.”

“If you need help, would she come to London?”

Abby shook her head. “Not if she has patients that require special care, which she usually does. She won't leave a woman who is at risk even for a duchess.”

Celeste narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “Then perhaps I can go to her, if you think it helpful. But first you must make your examination.”

“Lie down on your sofa and relax.”

The other woman crossed to the elegant little French style sofa and stretched out with her head on a brocade pillow. She looked more like a girl from the schoolroom than a duchess, though she must be Abby's age or older.

Abby stilled her mind and summoned the special sensitivities needed for scanning and diagnosis. When she was ready, she studied Celeste's aura. The basic color was pink. She guessed that the shade should have the brightness that marked a tender, loving, compassionate personality, but now it was marked with muddy tones and glints of a dark, depressed blue. She looked for signs of ill-health. Despite the heaviness of her aura, overall the duchess was healthy. “Your right elbow looks sore,” she observed. “Does it need treatment?”

“No, it's only a bruise from where I banged into my desk by mistake,” Celeste said. “But I'm impressed that you knew that without even touching me.”

“There was a red glow around your elbow,” Abby explained. “Relax, and we'll see what else we can find.”

The duchess obediently closed her eyes and did her best to be still, though her body was still taut. Hoping to find a fixable problem but aware that other healers hadn't, Abby slowly skimmed her hands several inches above the other woman's body. “Apart from nerves, you're in fine health,” she said. “You enjoy riding and brisk walks, I think?”

“You're right again.” Celeste's eyes flew open. “Might that be interfering with my ability to conceive?”

“Not at all. Healthy, active women usually find it easier to bear children.” Abby concentrated harder on the energy flow surrounding the female organs, but she could neither see nor feel any wrongness. “I sense no obvious problems. Now that I've examined you, I'll write Judith Wayne. Perhaps she'll have some suggestions.”

Her face a mask of disappointment, the duchess sat up. “I was expecting too much to think that you could instantly come up with a cure. Perhaps I should ask instead for a love charm to lure my husband back to my bed.”

“I think your own beauty and love are more potent than any magical charm,” Abby said gently.

Celeste caught her breath, tears glinting in her eyes. “I hope you're right. Strange, isn't it? Most women would think I have the best life in London, with health and wealth and a wonderful husband. I used to think that myself, and give thanks. But now it's all gone wrong.”

Abby sat on the chair by the sofa and produced a clean handkerchief for the duchess. “I can make no promises about a child, but surely your marriage can be restored. You and your husband love each other. You just need to find how to resolve this temporary misunderstanding.”

Celeste used the handkerchief to blot her eyes and blow her nose, looking lovely even in the midst of tears. “But how? All thoughts gratefully received.”

Abby thought about what she knew of the situation. “You said that Alderton believed that you didn't love him anymore. Does he have any other reason to believe that, apart from your suggestion that he take a mistress?”

“Of course not!” Celeste looked scandalized. “Men usually flutter around me at social events, but I am never more than polite. I certainly never offer any encouragement. Piers is the only man I want.” Her lips started to quiver before she pressed them tight.

Following instinct, Abby said, “You are an extraordinarily beautiful woman, while your husband's looks are merely average. Might he have trouble believing you could love him for something more than his title and wealth?”

“Piers is the most attractive man I know!” Celeste looked briefly outraged. Then her expression turned thoughtful. “But I feel that because I love him. Do you think that because my appearance is admired, he assumes I don't really care for him?”

“It's possible.” Abby knew from experience that an average appearance did nothing to bolster confidence in one's desirability. In the dark of night, did Alderton wonder if his beloved wife married him only for his position and had been lying to him ever since? It was a sad thought. “Where we love, we are most vulnerable, most prey to dark thoughts. Even dukes.”

Celeste frowned as she restlessly turned the wedding ring on her finger. “You are a healer of the mind as well as of the body, Abby. I shall think how best to reassure my husband of my feelings. Thank you.”

Abby didn't doubt that Celeste could charm her husband back to her arms. The question of a child was quite another matter.

T
hat night Jack was too restless to wait for Abby to join him, so he collected his cane and went into her bedroom first. “My bed is so large that I was lonely,” he explained, admiring the way the small night-light sculpted her softly feminine form.

She turned from braiding her hair and flipped back the covers, smiling. “There's plenty of room here.”

He leaned his cane against the bedside table and climbed in. A moment later, beribboned braid swinging, Abby climbed in on the other side. He rolled over and drew her into his arms. “Is London living down to your worst fears?”

She relaxed against him with a soft, contented sigh. “So far, so good. Celeste seemed alarmingly beautiful and perfect before I realized she's really much like you.”

He laughed out loud. “And I'm neither beautiful nor perfect?”

“That's not what I meant!”

“I know.” He tilted her face up with a finger under her chin and gave her a kiss. Lord, she tasted good. He pulled her closer so that her lush curves were pressed against him. To his delight, he felt stirrings in the part of his body that hadn't worked properly since his injury. Might tonight be the night?

No, not yet. He wasn't ready. It would be utterly humiliating for him and upsetting for Abby if he should be unable to complete what he wanted to begin. Better to wait until he was sure. For now, caressing her warm, sensual body and bringing her to completion would do.

With a breathless laugh, she ended the kiss and settled her head on his shoulder. “There is much to talk about tonight, most of it about your family. Did you know that Celeste and her husband are having serious problems?”

“I guessed something was wrong.” He and Abby had fallen into the habit of talking about their days when they came together in bed. He enjoyed the discussions, which helped him relax and sort out his thoughts, as well as deepening the bond with his wife. But if the topic was an awkward one, there was no place to hide.

“I assume you didn't ask Alderton about it because men don't discuss such things,” she said pragmatically. “Celeste was more forthcoming. While there are some superficial issues, the underlying problem is that she hasn't had a child. The reason she and I became friends so quickly was because she asked if I would treat her barrenness.”

“Can you heal that?” he asked, unable to keep hope from his voice. Though he and his sister had never discussed the matter, he knew that her childlessness hurt her. She had been his most faithful correspondent when he was in the army. In the early days she talked eagerly about when she and Piers would set up their nursery and speculated about whether their first child would be a boy or a girl. Gradually optimism had faded, replaced by anguished silence.

“I can try, but I don't know if I'll be successful. If I fail, perhaps Judith might be able to help. She's particularly good at treating such problems.” Abby sighed. “Sometimes healing performs miracles, but so often it doesn't. I wish I could do more.”

“If you could heal all ailments that were brought to you, you'd be dead of exhaustion in a week.” He stroked down her torso, thinking her ribs were more prominent than they had been, and it wasn't an improvement. “You're doing too much already. If you had greater power, you would simply burn out all the sooner.”

“You're right. It's the danger healers always face. We must be caring, yet accept our limitations. I'm not good at that.” Her voice was sad but resigned.

“There is always another desperate person begging you to heal barrenness or a broken neck or a lung disease. I'm no better than anyone else. I want to protect you, but I'm deeply grateful you saved my worthless hide, and I can't help hoping that you will be able to help Celeste.”

“Which is why healers are usually not very public in their work. Even the best of us can never do enough.” After a silence, Abby asked, “How did your father die?”

“A riding accident.” Jack's mouth twisted. “He tried to jump a stone wall that was too high and was thrown when his horse couldn't clear it. Smashed his skull in. Riding accidents run in the family.”

Abby sucked her breath in. “Are you sure his death was an accident?”

Damn the woman. He should have realized she would ask the unanswerable question. “I don't know. I've sometimes wondered if he was deliberately reckless, pushing himself until he went too far.” Never had Jack been so starkly aware of the similarities between himself and his father. “He had a streak of melancholia. If he was suffering from one of his black spells, it's possible that he was seeking oblivion that day. I don't know, and I don't want to know.”

“Maybe he couldn't live with suppressing his true nature,” Abby said softly. “May his soul rest at peace.”

The strangest sensation rushed through Jack as if a ghostly—or angelic—hand rested briefly on his chest. No, on his heart, the energy went right through him, and was achingly familiar. “How strange,” he breathed. “I feel that he is here and is truly at peace, at long last.” Was that because his father's children were learning to accept themselves? If so, it was all due to Abby. He kissed her forehead.

“You've never told me about your mother. Or your stepfather.”

“Just when I'm thinking what a wonderful woman you are, you ask me another impossible question,” he said, half amused and half irritated.

Her hand came to rest on his chest, right where the angelic hand had touched him. “We'll be going to Yorkshire soon. It's best if I know what to expect.”

She was right, as she usually was. He'd never send his men into possible danger without preparing them as much as possible.

When he'd sorted out his thoughts, he was surprised to find it easier to discuss his family than he'd expected. “My mother, Helen, is like a shining golden butterfly. Beautiful and always ready to dance in the sunshine. Men have been falling in love with her since she was in her cradle. She has a happy disposition; I've never met anyone who wasn't enchanted by her.”

He thought back to his childhood. His mother had a carelessness that had frustrated him when he was a child, but in her casual way, she had loved her children. “She was the daughter of a Yorkshire clergyman—good breeding, no dowry. But because of her charm and beauty, she had her choice of suitors. She chose my father.”

“If I can ask this without being too indelicate, did she love him, or do you think she was more in love with the idea of being Lady Frayne?”

“I've wondered that myself,” he admitted. “I think it was a bit of both. She and my father seemed well suited. She could make him smile even during his dark moods. She was the one who calmed him down after I bought a commission against his wishes. He didn't want his heir dying of fever or bullets in some foreign land. Which was sensible, of course, but I was determined.”

“Why did you join the army?” Abby asked curiously. “It's rare for the only son of a peer to do so. Were you army mad?”

“A little, but mostly I wanted to irritate my father,” he said wryly. “My mother had to work hard to persuade him to accept what I'd done. After he mastered his temper, we started to correspond. Not long after that, he died. I was glad that we had been reconciled.” He had never expected his father to die in the prime of life. It had been a bitter lesson in life's unpredictability.